


Burns going down

by usedupshiver



Series: Drowning Sorrows [4]
Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Cold is the new hot, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunn Loki, Loki-centric, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedupshiver/pseuds/usedupshiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki and Tony are both having a horribly bad day, and by now they are used to finding their solutions in the bottle. On this day, however, Loki is introduced to the infamous Green Fairy...<br/>Lapses in judgement ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burns going down

Anthony Stark was in a foul mood. Loki could tell as soon as he saw the man kicking the doors of the elevator when they didn't open fast enough for his taste. 

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored three piece suit, graphite gray, over a shirt that looked like shining silver, instead of his usual casual attire. While walking into the room he was pulling at the black tie, cursing under his breath. As he noticed Loki standing by the windows, his back to the city skyline, he just huffed and stopped.

”That was _horrible_ ”, he sighed. ”Officially sending Thor off back to Asgard. Looking like the biggest fucking puppy anyone has ever dared to kick. And me, standing there knowing I could save him the bother of hurring away to the next world, trying to find you. Like waving goodbye to the goddamn Titanic, knowing what's about to happen.”

”The what?”

”An old boat. That wouldn't float.” Tony pulled a face, burying his head in his hands, the rest of his words muffled behind them. ”That was a rhyme, wasn't it? I'm speaking in rhyme. When did that happen?”

He let his hands fall down, walked over to the couch and just fell forward onto it, flat on his face, hardly bracing himself in the landing. He remained in the same position for so long Loki started to wonder if he was attempting to suffocate himself. Then he finally turned his head to the side, eyes closed.

”You do know the guy loves you, right? Whenever he hears your name his eyes turn into these bottomless pits of 'what the fuck happened to make everything hurt this bad?' and it's just... _Horrible_.”

”So you said.”

Loki turned away, to stare out of the darkening window. He caught a glimpse of his own pale, thin face. The hair around it had grown out a bit, lost the spikey edges and was falling in something that was just almost curls, down to his shoulders. He didn't care.

The way _his_ eyes _also_ looked like pits of ”what the fuck happened to make everything hurt this bad?”, though... That was worrying. 

He blinked and focused on the faraway skyline.

”Lok'?”

”I guess that would be me.” Loki spoke without turning.

”Get me a drink, would you? I'd get it myself, but my sobriety is simply too heavy a burden.” A groan. ”Great. Now I'm talking like Thor. Shit.” A heavy sigh. ”Fucking Shakespeare in the park.”

Loki had no desire to think about his so-called-brother, and definitely not to spend the night with a man speaking in the same manner. So he decided he might once more use Stark's solution to the problem - to any problem - and walked over to the bar.

* * *

It was all mostly harmless to start with. 

Tony was beginning to lighten up, even on his ”Thor talk”, as he put it. He was now in just his suit pants and the silver shirt, it's sleeves rolled up over his elbows. Loki felt almost relaxed again,

Then, Stark returned from an expedition to the bar with a bottle Loki had never seen before, but which made one of his eyebrows arch. The mortal noticed.

”Yeah, my thoughts exactly. This stuff just has your name written _all over it_!”

”I can see why.”

And he could, actually.

The liquid in the bottle was a bright, sharp, vivid green. It looked volatile. Venomous. The stream of it, as Tony poured him a glass, reminded him of some sinister, otherworldly magic - much like his own. It tasted like death. It stung his throat.

Loki loved it.

So it shouldn't have surprised him – and on some level, it didn't – when it was the first drink the mortal had offered him that actually made his head spin. After three glasses of that green, ghastly, glorious stuff, the world had taken on a slightly foreign appearance. He thought some of it tilted in ways it hadn't done before.

Like the horizon. That was plain weird. He was sure the horizon was supposed to just be, you know, _horizontal_. This one wasn't anymore.

Maybe it was some Midgardian anomaly.

But then, Loki himself turned into an anomaly. And he didn't care about whatever problems the horizon might be dealing with any more.

He saw it happen this time. Reaching for his drink, he noticed the midnight blue tint to his nails, saw the lighter blue hue spread up his fingers, raised lines snaking over his skin. The mingled sense of frost and fire rushing over his body made him shudder, and he froze, his hand still a few inches from the glass. This shouldn't have surprised him either, not after last time, but somehow it still did.

Loki slowly raised his head and glanced over at Stark, to find the man staring at him. And then there was no need to ask if he had seen Loki's transformation take place.

”Oh. Shit. That was...” Tony trailed off, once more hypnotized by the crimson eyes.

”Horrible?” His voice was gravel grinding out of him.

”What?” The mortal shook his head, his brow knitting slightly. ”Fuck no! It was bloody _amazing_!”

Loki snorted and turned away.

”You look...”

”Horrible?”

”Would you stop it with the horrible?!” 

Stark was actually starting to sound slightly annoyed, and Loki turned back, wondering what was next.

”Thor with those damned puppy eyes, that's horrible. You, with a faceful of fucking rubies? Not horrible. Gorgeous.” There was a wide smile on Tony's face. ”Sort of odd, alien gorgeous, sure. But still.”

This was the point where Loki decided that none of this was real. None of this was really happening. He was asleep, curled up in one of his many hideouts, dreaming.

Because there was no possiblility, in any kind of reality in any kind of realm, that anyone would compare him to Thor and find him gorgeous, even on a good day. And while looking like the monster he truly was? No possiblity. None whatsoever.

And if this was not really happening. If that was not the real Anthony Stark sitting next to him. Then he could show his gratitude in any way he pleased.

He reached out, grabbed the heavy table in front of them, and shoved it completely out of the way.

”Hey!” Stark turned a confused face on him. ”I had a drink that just up and left me. That's not right.”

When Loki slipped from his seat to fall on his knees on the floor in front of him, Stark's jaw dropped.

”Lok'? What are you -”

Then Loki's blue hands closed around his hips, and pulled him to the edge of the seat, positioning himself between the man's legs. And then he unfastened Tony's pants.

”Oh...”

And then he gently slipped his frozen fingers up under the silver shirt.

”Oh!”

And then moved them back down, into his undergarment, finding him already hard.

” _Oh_! Shit! That's refreshing!”

And then he pulled Stark free of the cloth, to run his tongue gently over the head of him.

”OH!” A bitten off gasp. ”Oh, fuck. No, _that's_ refreshing!”

Tony pulled a deep breath and glanced down at Loki, blinking, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Now, that sure is a sight I thought I'd never see. Damn.”

"I would guess, not the first unlikely sight in these last months?"

"Absolutely not the first." Tony groaned and hissed when the flat, icy tongue moved all along the underside of his cock. "But this... I have to say... Takes the cake. Or, you know, the whole fucking pastry shop."

That was when Loki moved in on Stark for real. 

Closing his lips over the tip of him, the shock of the heat jarred Loki back awake. And all of a sudden, he knew this to be real. No dream. And he knew what he was doing. Was about to do. And that there would be no possibility to later tell himself he hadn't known.

Loki mentally held this realization up in front of himself. Studied it. Acknowledged it. And then crumpled it up and threw it away.

He just simply did not care anymore.

So he leaned forward and took in as much as he managed of what felt like a steel rod, still glowing hot from the forge. Pressing his lips and tongue to it while pulling back.

”Holy hell!” Stark's shout was shocked. ”Loki! Damn! Your mouth is like a bucket of lubed up fucking icecubes!”

Loki hesitated, unsure whether this was a complaint or not.

”Don't you dare fucking stop!”

Well, then...

It was slow and strange work, as neither of them could stand the temperature of the other for too long. But at every interruption, they came back for more.

Tony's muttered words became increasingly incoherent, and soon Loki was sure he would be able to draw a map of the mans cock even four thousand years from this day. Every inch of it seemed imprinted on his sensitive, cerulean lips.

Slowly Loki opened his eyes, shifted the angle of his head slightly, and let the crimson depths meet Stark's wide stare across his stomach and chest. He could see the man start to lose his hold on himself, right there in his eyes.

"Oh my god... I can't..." The words were hardly more than breath, struggling to make sense, shape or form. "Don't... Oh, shit... Don't look at me! I'll -"

That was when Loki swallowed, and the burning, blistering cock passed all the way into his throat. His nose pushed against Tony, but he still kept his eyes locked on the man's face, just to see him fall apart.

The heat of the cum inside him was so much more intense than he had been prepared for, even after the way it had burned his blue fingers last time. Now it seared into him, made it feel like his chest was on fire. It made him want to scream, but of course, he couldn't. He could only take it. All of it.

And part of him welcomed the pain of it, let the heat burn away part of the deeper, older and very cold hurt.

When he let go and pulled away, he slumped back onto the floor, flat on his back, staring up into the far off ceiling. For a long time, all he could hear was their laboured breathing.

"Stark?" He sounded all used up.

"Yeah?" The mortal didn't sound much better.

"The green liqour. What do you call it?"

"Absinthe."

He commited the name to memory, vowing to never come near such poison ever again. That should help.

This lack of self control, it really had to stop.


End file.
